


just tell 'em we're survivors

by Tash_ka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Assassin Dean Winchester, Fluff, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, a bit of angst, attempts at humor, with some plot mixed in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28389501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tash_ka/pseuds/Tash_ka
Summary: Dean walked along a long wall of photos, sparing them a brief glance. Illuminated by the bright light of the moon outside, they showed the same guy whose photograph Dean received two days ago along with a folder full of personal details and a name written at the top: Sam Winchester.Or, the three times Dean breaks into Sam's house.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 226





	1. Night One

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first work in this fandom, so hello everyone, hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> I started writing this story after watching the finale, which I enjoyed, but still it left me feeling empty inside. It took me a long time to finish this, but it turned out to be the longest story I've ever written. 
> 
> I've already finished all three chapters and I should be posting one of them each day. Also, let me know if you want a sequel to this, I already have some ideas in my head.

The lock opened with a soft click that sounded too loud in the surrounding silence. Dean didn’t pay it any attention, slipping in, dark and silent as a shadow. He closed the door behind him, no noise at all, his moves quick and sure with years of experience behind the movement. 

He got to the alarm system in a second, punching the code he memorized, and only allowed himself to breath out when it was disabled. It really would have been easier to just disable it remotely, like he usually did, but that would leave evidence and his client wanted the job to be clean. They paid extra, so he would make sure there was no suspicion. 

He stilled, just for a moment, allowing the darkness to encompass him, searching in the deafening silence for any sign that his presence was discovered. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Dean was a professional, that was why they had chosen him for this job. He always delivered and his targets never saw him coming. 

Still, he waited an extra minute just to make sure. He was as good as he was because, when other paid killers got cocky after a while, thinking nothing could touch them, Dean never did. In more than fifteen years since he started killing for money, he never got careless.

Once confident that the owner of the house was still asleep, Dean slowly moved down the corridor, his soft boots almost soundless on the wooden floor. As his steps got him closer to the living room, he silently assessed his surroundings. Not much changed since his first visit early in the morning when he sneaked in to get familiar with the layout of the house. Other, of course, than the fact that this time the owner was inside, sleeping unaware of the killer. 

Dean walked along a long wall of photos, sparing them a brief glance. Illuminated by the bright light of the moon outside, they showed the same guy whose photograph Dean received two days ago along with a folder full of personal details and a name written at the top: Sam Winchester. Since then he looked at the photo enough to draw the face from memory if needed, not that it would be a good drawing.

The guy had shaggy, too long hair, a strong jaw and bright eyes, that looked sharp and a little too old for him. Dean would call him hot if he wasn't a professional, if he didn't know that attaching any sentiment to his target was strictly forbidden. He was quite young too, not even thirty yet, but smart enough to be one of the top lawyers in the city. Apparently not smart enough to steer clear of the Styne family affairs. Too bad, Dean's traitor brain supplied, before he shook his head, needing to refocus.

The hallway opened into a spacious living room, expensive but full of personal touches that made it look lived in, not just a museum exhibit like most of those rich guys' homes. The view from the full wall windows had to be fantastic in the early morning, not that Dean would ever see it of course. He would be out of there in an hour, probably less.

He carefully stepped over a squeaky dog toy laying on the floor, trying not to huff a laugh at the poor kid’s misfortune. Of all the nights, he chose this one to leave the dog at his friend’s house. Dean heard the whole exchange of course, something about leaving early tomorrow and not having time to walk the mutt in the morning. Well, lucky dog. It was better that way, dealing with dogs always left bad aftertaste in Dean’s mouth.

As he started climbing up the stairs leading to the bedroom, he couldn’t help but scan the big bookcase taking up the whole wall next to him. It was mostly full of big, heavy law books, but even at the first glance Dean could see that the guy was also well read in fiction, history and philosophy. Some of the titles he noticed were ones Dean read before or was meaning to get to soon. 

He rolled his eyes and pointedly turned away from the books. What the hell was he doing checking his target’s book collection? If Bobby was here he would smack him on the head and tell him that getting distracted like that could only cause him trouble. Too bad Bobby was dead. 

It was shit luck for the kid, for sure. He couldn’t know what he was getting into when they gave him that pro bono case. Some bastard that was a scapegoat for one of the murders committed by the Styne family was facing life in prison. All the evidence was there, eagerly delivered by corrupt police officers and all the kid had to do was shut up about the irregularities and try to get the guy a few years off the sentence. 

It was an easy case, wrapped in a neat little bow. He could close it quickly and get back to being a big shot lawyer but, because of pride or desire to prove himself, he just had to dig deeper. Dean only skimmed through the legal details, but from what he gathered the lawyer had enough time to make a solid case for his client's innocence before anyone had even realized someone was asking the wrong questions.

Dean wasn't sure how much evidence the kid had, or if they were incriminating any members of the family, all he knew was that he got paid to get rid of him quickly and without noise, so no one would have a reason to suspect anything other than a horrible accident. Although, judging by the amount of money already transferred to Dean’s bank account and the other half that was waiting for him after the fact, this Winchester guy had the family scared badly.

One of the steps creaked under his weight and Dean froze immediately, once again straining his ears for any sound of activity upstairs. One minute, two, nothing. He took the last two steps with even more caution and found himself in another corridor. 

It was easy to find the right door even in complete darkness that filled the first floor. He moved with measured, sure steps and stopped when his gloved hand touched the handle. All he could hear were deep breaths on the other side of the door.

He slowly cocked his gun, even though he had no intention of using it this time. Having a gun always made the target more docile. The guy on the other side of the door was big and muscular, taller and broader than Dean, even caught asleep, without a gun this could get messy. A gun pointed at a head had a weird way of paralyzing people, allowing Dean to control them easily until he killed them. 

The handle turned easily and Dean made two steps into the room, gun steady in his grip. His eyes immediately went to the bed and to the shape hidden underneath the covers. It took him only a second to register something was wrong. Turns out it was a second too long.

There was a quick move behind him and suddenly the gun was knocked out of his hand. He briefly saw it slide to the other end of the room, metal shining in the moonlight, before someone was charging at him.

Dean’s reflexes were really good, honed by years of hand to hand combat, hours of practice, but even with all of that training he barely had time to duck as a fist flew towards his face. He jumped back, dodging another two punches, before he even had a second to regroup. It was all he needed to find his footing and reassess the situation before him. 

He easily stopped another hit with his forearm and threw a punch of his own. It was just his luck that this Winchester guy turned out to be some kind of a ninja. He easily parried three of Dean’s attacks before kicking him in the stomach, sending Dean to meet the wall, his back painfully colliding with the hard surface.

Now Dean was pissed. He slid to the left to avoid another punch aimed at his face and responded with an elbow to the guy’s stomach. Judging by the sound that left the kid’s lungs it really hurt. Dean smirked and didn’t waste time before hitting him again, fist to the cheekbone that sent his opponent stumbling a few steps back. 

If Dean thought that those two hits gave him an upper hand he was sorely mistaken. He barely had time to pull himself back from the wall when the guy was back at him, one punch after the other, clipping Dean in the chin before he had a chance to deflect. 

He wasn’t sure how long they fought, exchanging a few punches but mostly blocking each other, moving around the room in some really messed up, but at the same time weirdly graceful dance. The kid knew his stuff, that was for sure. Dean would never admit it to anyone but he was kind of enjoying himself. There was something exciting in fighting with someone who was actually a challenge, a nice change from his last few hit jobs or even his usual sparring partners who were never quite on his level. 

That was why he felt a little bit sorry when he finally found a weak spot in the kid's defense, cut out his legs from under him and pinned him to the ground. There was a moment when he tried to buck Dean off of him, trashing a little underneath him, but Dean held him tight, not giving an inch. 

“Easy, tiger” Dean gasped, a lot more out of breath than he expected and sent a smile that was all teeth towards the guy. 

“Dean.”

He startled at the sound of his name coming out of the kid’s mouth in a smooth and controlled voice. He had only a moment to realize his mistake, then he felt a sudden shift and, before he knew it, he was the one pinned on his back. The guy’s face, Sam’s face, looking at him intently, one eyebrow quirked in a challenge. 

Dean stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, too distracted to even notice the guy reaching for his discarded gun and pointing it at his face. Dean really was out of his game today. If this was how he was going to die he deserved it, he thought grimly, then felt something hard hitting his head and blacked out.

*

Dean came to consciousness all at once with a loud gasp. 

He blinked twice, carefully assessing his surroundings. He was still in the bedroom, the room around him pitch black, but now he was sitting on a chair, hands tied behind his back and a thick rope looped around his torso, effectively holding him in place. 

There was no trace of the guy anywhere which probably meant that he was calling the police right about now. Which was Dean's queue to get away from there as quickly as possible and lick his wounds in one of his hideouts. He fucked up big time. After the stunt he pulled it would be damn near impossible to make the guy’s death look like an accident. Especially with the police involved. His employers wouldn’t be happy, that was for certain. 

Dean tensed his muscles, trying to make some room for movement, but there was little give on the rope. Clearly the guy knew his knots. He snorted quietly, it seemed like Sam Winchester was full of surprises. 

There was a sound, a step creaking, as someone climbed up the stairs and came into the bedroom. Dean cranked his head to see better and, sure enough, there stood his target, alive and well, looking unbothered by the fact that someone had just tried to kill him. If Dean wasn’t so busy trying to loosen his knots, he would be insulted. 

“I’ve been meaning to fix that step for a while.” The kid said, catching Dean’s eye for a long moment, until realization hit him.

That motherfucker.

Dean watched him as he made his way to the lamp in the corner, his back casually facing Dean, and turned it on. The bedroom was immediately filled with a warm glow, allowing him to take a first close look at the kid. 

He was still wearing sleeping pants and a t-shirt, which were hugging his body incredibly, looking exactly as good as Dean remembered from the photo and from the day he spent following him. The only difference was that now he was sporting a few cuts and a huge red mark on his cheekbone. That was going to bruise badly. Good. 

Finally, he sat on the bed and turned towards Dean, gaze piercing, studying him. Well, whatever kind of power game the kid was trying to play, Dean didn’t have patience for it. His fingers went back to work on the knot, slowly, without making any noticeable movements. 

"Those won't hold me very long, kid, you know that, right?"

"I know." 

"Really?" Dean looked at him curiously, expecting the guy to boast over confidently about the strength of his knots, rather than agree with him. 

"I just need them to hold you long enough so we can talk." Sam shrugged, amusement playing on his lips. He didn't look scared at all at the prospect of Dean getting free. 

Dean stared at him for a moment, not sure if he should be offended by the way he was dismissed as a threat or proud that his skills were recognized. Then he caught himself and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to show that he knew what Sam was doing. 

Dean had been a bit off his game this evening, he would be the first to admit that having his target fight back and ending up tied to a chair wasn't what he had planned for the night. That didn't mean he should let the kid play him like that. But there was something intriguing about him. Something that made Dean feel off balance from the moment he got his name, even more now when they were face to face.

Not to mention, the kid kept acting like he was the one with an upper hand in all of this, like he had Dean exactly where he wanted him to and, if he was being honest, it creeped him out a little. 

Then he remembered something. 

“You know my name.”

He watched as the kid smiled at him widely, showing his dimples, because apparently he had fucking dimples too.

“Yup,” he confirmed in a slow drawl, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning a little bit towards Dean in the process. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I know that.” Dean scoffed and Sam smiled even wider. He just wished that someone would come in and shoot him in the head because, apparently, he was now on the first name basis with his target. “How do you know my name?”

“What, you think you’re the only one who did some digging?”

Dean huffed a laugh, leaning his head back and shaking it in disbelief. He had been played so bad it was kind of impressive. 

“It’s always the quiet ones” he trailed off, running his gaze up and down Sam’s body appreciatively, noticing that the kid looked a little uncomfortable at the attention, but he didn’t fully shy away from it. “So, how did you find out about me, Sammy?”

“Don’t call me-” Sam stopped abruptly, when he saw the smirk blossoming on Dean’s face. He sent him a hard look before responding. “I was expecting for a while that they’ll send someone to kill me.”

“Kill you? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, clearly showing he didn’t have time for bullshit.

“I defend criminals for a living, Dean, there are a lot of people who owe me favors. And you are something of a celebrity in the criminal world.”

Dean puffed his chest slightly, glad to notice that the rope was giving him much more leeway now. 

“Sammy, if you keep on complimenting me like that I might blush.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, causing him to roll his eyes. That was all the distraction Dean needed to slip one hand from his binds. He shot a quick glance at the guy, who didn’t seem to notice anything, and grinned to himself. 

“So, someone told you about me?” Dean asked, trying for casual, but missing, judging by the knowing look Sam sent his way. 

“I’m not telling you who it was, so you can kill them once you’re out of here.” 

“Once I’m out of here? You’re planning on letting me go?” Dean mocked, glad to feel that he was finally getting back his footing.

This whole night was a disaster, but now his mind was back to working on full speed, running through scenarios in his head. Maybe all of this could turn around after all. He adjusted his wrists slightly, crossing them, as not to raise any suspicion. The kid wasn’t even looking at him now, it would be easy to take him by surprise, but he didn’t, curious where all of this would lead.

Sam’s eyes turned back to him and he shook his head, the look on his face half amusement half exasperation. Dean found it strangely attractive and had to fight not to smile back. He kind of wanted to say something stupid again, just to see that expression aimed at him. 

That thought made him pause for a moment. There was something really wrong with him right now. He didn’t know what was happening, maybe Sam hit his head too hard before, because the guy wasn’t even his type. Dean usually went for the hot and mysterious, not goofy ninjas. That’s not to say that Sam wasn’t hot, that was actually the first thing that Dean noticed about him. And he had to admit the kid was kinda mysterious too. Dean sighed. Crap.

“I told you, I just want to talk to you.” 

Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair self-consciously, which made Dean realize that he was staring for too long. It was uncanny, watching how the kid could go from confident to shy in a blink of an eye. It made Dean unable to look away. 

“I tried to kill you and you want to talk to me?” He asked and it came out more honest than he expected.

“Well, it was a pretty poor attempt.” Sam replied, smiling all wide and innocent, when Dean sent him an annoyed glare. “Sorry” he added, sounding anything but apologetic.

“I’m going to kill you very slowly.” Dean shot back, sending his best psycho killer grin. He saw a small shiver run down Sam’s body, but judging by the darkening of his eyes, it wasn’t from fear. It looked like Sammy was a little bit kinky. 

Sam cleared his throat, imperceptibly adjusting his position on the bed. When he spoke again, his voice was as controlled as ever.

“Actually, I think you’re going to help me kill the Stynes. Very slowly.” He added, sending Dean a grin of his own, one that could intimidate him if he was a lesser man. 

It made him feel a bit uncomfortable, though, mainly because it was clashing with the image of Sam he constructed in his head. Sam wasn’t intimidating. He was smart as hell, apparently almost as good as Dean in hand to hand combat and a decent human being. Definitely not someone who would go around intimidating people for fun. 

"No offense, kid, I'm sure you're a hot shot lawyer and all of that, but you can't afford me." 

That was true. Dean worked very hard to make it so and he was proud of it. It didn’t seem to deter Sam, who was still looking very sure of himself. 

"I think that you'll help me for free." 

Sam shrugged, quirked an eyebrow, and Dean would lie if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious. He leaned back slightly, sending the kid a mocking smile.

"That's funny. Unlike you, Mother Theresa, I don't take pro bono cases." 

Sam snorted. "You think I took that case out of the goodness of my heart?"

Dean startled, jaw dropping a little, as he stared at the guy in confusion. If he had to be honest, he was getting tired of constantly feeling like a fish out of the water tonight. Every time he thought he had him figured out, Sam came out with something unexpected. Dean started to think he was doing it on purpose, just to rattle him. Sure, he loved an intriguing conversation partner, especially if they looked like that, but at some point he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

He squared his jaw, muscles tensing as he glared at Sam.

“Why don’t you stop with this cryptic bullshit and tell me what this is all about before you piss me off?”

Sam raised his hands in a placating gesture, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m getting there, it’s not my fault that you are so distracting.” It took him a second to realize what he just said, but the moment he did, his cheeks started turning red quickly. “I mean that you keep on interrupting me.” Sam explained, but they both knew it was pointless, the way he blushed was too much of a giveaway.

Just to mess with him a little, Dean stretched really slowly, mindful of the restraints, and opened his legs a bit, just enough for it to be suggestive. He could feel Sam’s eyes following him and the kid blushed even harder when Dean caught his gaze. Payback was a bitch.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled with an indignant huff, then spoke again.

“I took that case, because I knew that the Stynes were connected. And it wasn’t because I wanted to help the guy they framed for murder. I mean, that’s a bonus, sure, but I’m more interested in them than I ever was in him.”

“So what, you’re on some kind of revenge mission?”

Sam simply nodded, holding Dean’s gaze for a moment. 

“What did they do to you?”

“They've killed my father.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Dean said, apologetic, because he might be a killer, but he still was a fucking human being. 

“Yeah, that was a long time ago. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to help me out of pity.” The way Sam quirked his lips in a shy smile, his eyes glowing in the lamplight, made Dean think that he just might. He quickly squashed the thought before it had a chance to settle in his brain for good. 

“So, why do you think I will help you?” 

“Because there is something you don’t know about the Stynes.”

Dean frowned, intrigued by the way Sam’s eyes suddenly narrowed, face twisting in poorly concealed hatred. 

“Yeah, no shit. A little newsflash, kid, I don’t really care. They pay me to do the job, that’s all.” The quip came out automatically, a little half-heartedly, considering that Dean was still focused on the emotions playing clear as day on Sam’s face.

“I’m afraid you won’t get a chance to enjoy the money for long.” Sam replied, jaw clenched, his gaze laser focused on Dean. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The last two guys Stynes hired? They all died very soon after.”

“What?” Dean asked, bewildered, making them both jump a little as his raised voice resonated in the quiet of the room. Before he even noticed what he was doing, he was pulling out of his restraints and standing up, agitated. 

His whole body was suddenly in a danger mode. In two steps, he was near the window, looking out at the street to make sure no one was outside. Everything was quiet, just like it was supposed to be in the middle of the night. No suspicious vehicles parked anywhere, no drunk people stumbling around. He breathed out, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline. 

Sam could be lying of course, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had lied to him to have their life spared, but Dean didn’t think so. He was good at spotting liars, it was his gift, ever since he was little. Besides, the rage behind Sam’s eyes looked so real just now, it was difficult to imagine that he was making this up. And there was something else. Something hidden deep in his eyes, some long buried guilt that Dean couldn’t quite decipher. There was definitely more to the story, but he wasn’t lying. 

“It took you a while to get out of those.” Sam chuckled. 

Dean should have tensed, especially because he almost forgot Sam was in the room with him. Instead he felt himself relax a bit at the sound of Sam’s laughter.

“Sammy, I was out fifteen minutes ago, you just didn’t notice” he snorted, turning towards the other man. He briefly wondered when he let himself trust Sam enough to show him his back. 

“And you didn’t say anything?” Sam was still sitting on the bed, cool as ever, not at all concerned that one of the best assassins in the country was loose in his house. He was watching Dean calmly, intrigued, like Dean was the most interesting man he'd ever met. 

“I wanted to make you more comfortable.”

"Dude, I've kicked your ass once already, who's to say I can't do it again?" Sam grinned at Dean's indignant expression and stood up. He had to notice the way Dean suddenly tensed, because he took a step back, his expression open. "Relax," he said, like he was soothing a wild animal. Dean bristled at the comparison. "I just thought we might be more comfortable downstairs. Now that you’ve managed to get free." Sam quirked an eyebrow and didn't wait for Dean's reaction before he made his way out of the room and down the stairs

"I was free a long time ago!" Dean shouted after him, but Sam didn't pay him any attention as he headed towards the kitchen, giving him no choice but to follow. 

By the time he came into the kitchen, Sam was already fiddling with the coffee machine. 

"Coffee?" He asked. Dean nodded dumbly and sat down once Sam pointed him towards one of the chairs. 

For the lack of better things to do, he observed Sam as he moved around the kitchen. Barefoot, his mind supplied gleefully, making Dean groan quietly. He took a moment to admire the way Sam's muscles flexed under his shirt, the way his ass looked in those thin pajama pants, getting so lost in his thoughts that he barely even noticed Sam turning towards him. 

He momentarily flushed at being caught staring, but recovered swiftly, sending Sam one of his best suggestive looks. Sam rolled his eyes in response as he placed a mug before Dean and sat down opposite him. 

There was a moment when they both sat silently, watching each other. Dean could see the indecision in Sam’s eyes as the kid considered him quietly. Dean, for his part, kept perfectly still, doing his best to keep his face open, allowing Sam to read him. It wasn’t easy and he could feel his skin crawl, the part of his brain that always helped him separate his feelings from the job screaming at him that he was getting too close. But, he reasoned with himself, it was too late to go back now. Whether he wanted to admit it or not he already let the kid in too deep. 

The pull that he felt from the moment he opened Sam’s folder, that only grew stronger the longer they were fighting, talking - or flirting, the thought appeared at the back of his mind - was something he never felt before. Add to that the way Sam seemed to trust him, to feel comfortable around him, despite the fact that Dean came to his house with the intention to kill him. Dean found himself thinking that he owed him a little trust in return. 

Sam’s eyes stayed on him a little longer, before he nodded to himself and reached to open one of the drawers. He took out a manila envelope and slid it towards Dean. 

“This is all the info I have. Nine guys in the last ten years, all of them worked for the Stynes, all of them died within a month of finishing the job. I’m sure there were more, I just wasn’t able to find them.”

Dean looked at him and then down at the envelope, running his fingers across the paper. 

"How did you even know to look for this?" 

Judging by the look on Sam’s face it was the question he expected but also dreaded. He bit his lip hard, eyes sliding down from Dean’s face towards his mug. Dean waited patiently as he traced the rim with his finger, before firmly grabbing the handle, as if he was bracing himself. His gaze met Dean’s straight on. 

"My father is on that list." He finally replied, closely watching for reaction. 

Dean was surprised at how unsurprising this news was to him. That was the one piece of the Sam Winchester puzzle that actually made sense. It would explain where Sam learned how to fight so well, why he knowingly involved himself with the Stynes and why he wanted them dead so badly. 

“Your father killed people.” Dean said after a moment of silence, more a statement than a question. 

Sam nodded.

“My mother died when I was little, she burned in a fire, when my father was getting me out of the house. After that he wasn’t the same. For as long as I remember we were living on the road, going from city to city, fake names, fake stories. My father was an ex-marine, he had more than enough skills to become a paid killer. I was twelve when I found out what he was doing,” Sam paused, running a hand down his face. 

“That’s when he decided I was old enough to help. So I did, everything he wanted, I did it. I helped him kill a lot of people, Dean. Until I managed to get into college. I was so happy that I was finally able to get away from him. When I told him he got so mad, he told me he'd never wanted to see me again. That was the last time I saw him. Two years later I got a call from dad’s old friend, he said that he was dead and told me that the Stynes killed him. I’ve been obsessed with them ever since.” Sam let out a laugh, but the sound was broken, a little too wet. 

Dean pretended not to notice the tears shining in his eyes. He watched the way Sam turned his head, trying to blink the tears away. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you my sob story. It’s just-- You are the first person I could tell the truth.”

Dean could take a lot without blinking or thinking twice. He learned a long time ago that feelings only got in the way of his job and he was very successful in locking them up, hiding them in a deepest corner, so far away and out of reach that sometimes he wasn’t even sure they were still there. 

He could shoot a guy while looking straight into his eyes, stitch himself up while trying to keep his guts from spilling, without making a noise. But this, hearing the pain in Sam’s voice, seeing the way he was trying to hold back his emotions. His heart was fucking melting and it took all of his self-restraint not to reach out and hug the kid, protect him from everything and everyone that wanted to harm him. 

If someone told him this morning that Sam Winshester would break all his walls in a matter of hours, he would laugh them in the face and shoot them on principle. Because Dean didn’t do feelings. Except that now he apparently did. 

He waved off Sam’s apology and cleared his throat, considering. There was no doubt in his mind that he was better than whoever the Stynes could send after him. He could just leave and disappear into the night, no one would find him, not unless he wanted them to. Unlike many he knew, Dean was never a big fan of getting revenge. He saw it destroy too many people to not learn his lesson. There was absolutely no reason to get involved in this more than he needed to be. The money that he got in advance was already enough to cover all the inconvenience that hiding for the next few months could cause. Hell, he could go to the beach and spend the next year drinking beer with his toes in the sand.

But Sam-- The kid was good, he could definitely hold his own against Dean, against anyone who would go after him, but for how long? Sooner or later he would slip. There was just no way that one kid, no matter how skilled and hell-bent on revenge, could win this. 

He needed Dean’s help. And Dean was surprised to admit that he wanted to help him. 

“Hey, Sammy?” He bent his head, trying to catch Sam’s gaze. When he finally succeeded he was taken aback by how close they became. As he looked into the red-rimmed eyes, a small, genuine smile broke onto his face. Sam responded in kind, although his smile was a little shaken. "If you want my help killing the Stynes, I'm in." 

"Really?" 

Dean grinned at Sam's raised eyebrows. 

"Sure, why not. I’m free this weekend." He shrugged. 

"Free this weekend? Free--?" Sam sent him an incredulous look. "Dean, it's serious. Do you even realize how powerful they are?!" His voice got higher the more irritated he became. 

Dean watched Sam for a moment, letting him wind himself up a little. It was the first time that he saw Sam out of control and he kind of enjoyed having the upper hand for once. When the kid started listing all the corrupt cops working in the city, Dean had to step in. 

"Relax, Sammy," he said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder and running it slowly down his arm, which shut the kid up immediately. 

"Don't call me Sammy." He mumbled, shrugging the hand off. Dean was happy to see that the blush was back in full force. 

"But I like it." Dean smiled crookedly, shooting Sam a challenging eyebrow. The kid just sighed, resigned. 

"Listen," Dean continued after a second, serious once again. "I know very well how powerful they are. You can be damn sure I'm not taking them lightly, okay?" 

Sam nodded. 

"But I'm still better." 

Dean was glad to hear Sam chuckle at that. 

"I'm sure you are." He replied, but it lacked the teasing tone Dean expected. Instead, he was met with Sam's serious face. 

Dean opened his mouth to reply, then closed them again unsure what to say. They sat in silence, while Sam busied himself with his coffee and Dean turned his gaze back to the envelope laying before him. He contemplated opening it, when Sam spoke again. 

“You know, I thought that maybe you knew, and that’s why you came after me.” Sam's voice was subdued, his hands shaking slightly around his mug. 

“Knew what?” Dean looked up, startled. 

“That I was a killer.”

Dean tilted his head to the right, clueless look on his face.

“I told you I did some digging and one thing everyone was saying about you, is that you only go after bad people.”

Dean turned his gaze away. The room felt suffocating all of the sudden as Sam was looking at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to answer. He should have known that Sam would find out about this too.   
He just really hoped he wouldn’t. For some reason he preferred Sam to think he was a cold-blooded killer than to learn the truth.

“Yeah, things change.” He forced himself to sound dismissive and tried to ignore how broken his voice came out. Sam shot him an inquiring look, not buying his bulshit at all. 

Dean sighed. 

“Look, there was this person who was like a father to me. He was the one who had a code and taught me to only take jobs if the people really deserve to die. After he died, I kinda went off the rails.” He chuckled humorlessly, then startled when one of Sam’s hands landed on his own, squeezing lightly. 

He sat quietly for a moment, trying not to tense and give Sam any indication that his touch was unwanted. In reality, it was helping to ground him more than Dean expected something so simple could. He was staring at Sam’s hand, tracing the veins running under the skin with his eyes. 

Sam was a steady presence next to him. Dean could hear him breathing, slow and measured, as he waited for him to speak again. 

“They offered a lot of money for you, so I figured, why not. It’s not like I had anyone who cared enough to stop me, you know?” 

He knew he sounded pathetic, spilling his guts like that to a guy he barely met, but when he looked at Sam, there was no disgust or pity. His eyes were warm and understanding, which normally would just piss Dean off, but right here and now, he felt comforted. 

“I get it, man,” Sam spoke softly, as if he was afraid anything louder would spook Dean. “After my dad-- Well, let’s just say I was in a very bad place for a while. It’s hard. Losing the only person you thought would always be there.”

Dean hummed, feeling something loosen up inside him at Sam’s gentle tone, a warmth starting in his stomach and spreading all through his body. When Sam’s thumb started running across his wrist, a delicate back and forth, he was about ready to melt. Too distracted to even remember the hurt from just a few minutes ago. And all of that from a simple touch. 

He let himself be soothed, his shoulders relaxing in the easy silence that settled between them. 

“What was his name?”

It took Dean’s brain a minute to realize he was asked a question. When he did, he blinked heavily, feeling sluggish as if he was on the verge of falling asleep. He shook himself awake with a move of his head, snatching his hand away from under Sam’s as if burnt. 

“Bobby,” he replied, awkwardly hiding his hand under the table. “Bobby Singer.”

He looked up when he was met with silence and instantly tensed again at the horror and disbelief painted on Sam’s face. 

“Sammy?” He asked carefully.

“Dean--'' Sam swallowed heavily, his hands clutching the mug so hard, Dean thought it was going to break. “Bobby Singer-- He's on that list too.”


	2. Night Two

Breaking into Sam’s house the second time was as easy as the first. He wished that the tangled mess of his thoughts and feelings was as easy to deal with as picking the simple lock and disarming the alarm system. 

As the lock clicked, Dean made a mental note to talk to the kid about better security. That is if Sam wouldn’t kick him out of the door first. After how he stormed out of Sam’s place yesterday, he wouldn’t be surprised if the other man didn’t want to talk to him.

That part of the night still seemed a little bit foggy. He remembered tearing into the envelope Sam had given him and the moment he saw Bobby’s face staring at him from a photo. He barely even noticed that Sam was trying to talk to him, shouted his name to get Dean’s attention. But Dean paid him no mind as he stood up in daze and headed for the door.

After the initial shock wore off he stayed up the rest of the night, reading through the files Sam gave him, and barely slept during the day. He thought about Bobby a lot. More than he let himself think about the man since his funeral. 

Everyone told him Bobby died because of the job that had gone bad. Dean had never asked for any details, didn't want to know. Partially because picking at that wound hurt too much, but mostly because Dean was afraid. Afraid that if he knew more he wouldn't be able stop himself, he would dig deeper to find out who did it. Dean had seen how easy it was to go down the path of revenge and that coming out at the end intact was nearly impossible. 

But now he knew. It was all there in Bobby’s file, enough details to have Dean convinced that Sam was right. The Stynes were responsible for killing Bobby after he did a job for them. The same thing that would have happened to Dean if he’d killed Sam last night. 

Around noon and after his fourth glass of scotch, Dean decided that he needed to talk to Sam again. Even if it meant he had to risk being punched in the face and sent on his way. 

The lights were off in the hallway but, unlike the night before, the living room was brightly lit and there was music coming from that direction. Dean frowned, wondering if Sam was waiting for him. He really hoped the other man didn't have any guests, because that would be really awkward to explain. 

There was a sound of barking from somewhere inside the house and before he knew it, Dean was met with seventy pounds of a Golden Retriever charging at him. The dog stopped abruptly in front of him and sat down looking at him expectantly. Relaxing slightly, but still a bit flabbergasted, Dean offered the dog - a girl - his hand to sniff, a chance she happily took, then proceeded to slobber all over it. 

“Hi, girl,” Dean greeted, crouching in front of the dog and petting her, at first hesitantly, until she wagged her tail enthusiastically, demanding more. “Good thing you weren’t here yesterday.”

“I figured you’d be a lot less murderous towards her today.” 

Dean didn’t jump when he heard Sam’s voice, but it was a close thing. The dog, seeing that he was distracted, took the opportunity to lick long wet trail across his cheek, making Dean jump back in disgust. He could hear Sam trying to muffe his laughter. 

Sam turned towards the light switch, illuminating the hallway with a warm glow. This gave Dean a second to stand up and try to recover bits of his pride before Sam looked at him again. 

Giving Sam a quick once over, he was thrilled to admit that he looked even better than yesterday. Instead of his sleeping clothes he was dressed in a pair of well-fitted jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his muscles beautifully. Dean felt his mouth go dry. 

“I wasn’t gonna kill her, a dead dog always looks way too suspicious. Now, however, I’m seriously considering it.” He replied, making a show of narrowing his eyes at the dog and sending her a threatening glare. 

Sam shook his head, watching them with amusement.

“You love her.” He shrugged, sounding too hopeful for Dean to disagree, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't, because, slobber or not, the dog was really cute. 

There was an awkward moment when they stood facing each other, neither one sure what to say next. Dean put his hands in his front pockets, suddenly feeling uneasy. He had the whole day to think about what he wanted to say but when the time came his mind was blank. 

Sam's eyes followed the movement, but quickly snapped back up to Dean's face, when he realized what he was doing. He ran a hand through his hair, sending Dean a shy smile. 

“Maybe we should-”

“I’m sorry-”

They both paused, chuckling quietly, as they regarded each other. Sam spoke first.

“I thought that we would be more comfortable in the kitchen, or in the living room.” He gestured down the hall, already starting to walk in that direction. 

“Living room it is.” Dean nodded, following after Sam. Once they reached the open area Sam turned towards the kitchen, leaving him to settle down on the couch.

“You want a beer? Or something stronger?" 

“Beer is fine, thanks.”

Sam hummed his acknowledgement as he reached inside the fridge, fishing out two bottles and bringing them to the couch. He sat down next to Dean, leaving just enough room for them not to touch, but not enough so Dean could ignore how close they were. From this angle Dean could see the nasty bruise on Sam’s cheek and felt momentarily guilty. 

He took the bottle, deliberately brushing their fingers, just so he could see Sam smiling at him again. The dimples were back in full force, which made it really difficult to focus on the conversation they needed to have. 

Dean took a sip from his bottle, some fancy craft beer that he would never drink otherwise and was surprised to find out it actually tasted pretty good. He took another sip, feeling Sam’s eyes on him, then put a bottle down on the table and sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry for yesterday. I didn’t mean to leave like that. It’s just-- What you said--”

Sam dismissed him with a wave of his hand. 

“I know. And I’m sorry too. You have to believe me that I had no idea you knew someone on that list.” His eyes shone hopefully, as he turned sideways on the couch, one hand propped on the backrest, bent leg touching Dean's tight. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you or anything like that.” 

Dean had to laugh at that, even if it made Sam frown at him, hurt momentarily flashing through his eyes. All of this time he was thinking Sam would be mad because of the way he left last night. And there he was eating himself up, apologizing to Dean for something he didn't do. 

They were both so fucked. 

"Sammy, I'm not laughing at you," he said, shaking his head in amusement as he moved to mirror Sam's position. "Of course you didn't know. I've never suspected that you did. Honestly." He added, seeing that Sam still wasn't fully believing him. 

Sam nodded, shrugging his shoulder. When Dean kept looking at him expectantly, he finally sent him a bashful grin. 

"Thanks, I guess." 

"Damn right," Dean showed all of his teeth in return, patting Sam's knee lightly. Once, twice. Before he realized what he was doing and his hand froze awkwardly in the air. He slowly moved it back until it rested on his own knee. 

He hoped to god he didn't believe in that Sam wouldn't notice. Dean wasn't usually so bad when it came to flirting or picking up people he wanted to have sex with. It was enough of a humiliation to suddenly become so awkward, he didn't need the added embarrassment of Sam noticing it. 

The problem was he didn't want to have sex with Sam. Or rather, he didn't just want to have sex with him. Usually Dean was in and out of towns so fast he didn't have time for anything other than one night stands, even if he wanted something more. Which he didn't. He was perfectly happy sleeping with people and then leaving them behind. Less drama, less hurt and no need to lie to them about what he was doing for a living. 

With Sam it felt different. Even though they had barely spent three hours together Dean told him more about himself than anyone else in his life, with the exception of Bobby. Maybe it was the death of the only person Dean could confide in that made him yearn for someone else to have that connection with. Or maybe Sam was simply too smart and really fucking hot, ticking all the boxes for Dean the way no one did before. Whatever the reason, the result was he wanted to have sex with Sam, repeatedly, and talk about his day afterwards. 

It could be his wishful thinking, but the way Sam was looking at him, made Dean pretty certain he wasn't the only one feeling that way. 

“Dean” Sam’s voice pulled him out of his musings, making him realize with exasperation that he was, once again, staring too much. It was a wonder Sam hadn’t called him a creep and thrown him out of the house. “What you said yesterday, about helping me? Is it something you still want to do?” He bit his lip, sending Dean a hopeful look, making him glad he actually thought about an answer beforehand, because that look would make him agree to pretty much anything.

“I mean, you don’t have to.” Sam rushed to assure him, when Dean stayed quiet, misinterpreting Dean’s infatuation with his eyes as indecision. “This whole thing is going to be a mess,” he chuckled humorlessly. “But even if you’ve changed your mind, I’d still-- I’d still like you to stay a little longer.” A shy smile that made Dean melt a little. “We could talk or-- or whatever.”

Ding, ding, give him a prize, because Sammy was totally interested.

“Or whatever?” Dean smirked, letting his eyes rake over the whole of Sam’s body, making sure Sam couldn’t mistake the look for anything other than blatant appreciation. “That’s the way they teach you to flirt in those fancy lawyer schools, Sammy?”

He watched in delight as Sam bristled at that, the way he couldn’t hide his blush behind indignation. When he was finally done with his best fish out of water impression and opened his mouth with intent to reply Dean placed a hand on his knee, effectively sushing any protests or excuses. 

“First things first,” he said, instantly turning serious, but making no move to remove his hand. “Believe me, I had a lot of doubts about helping you after-- after I found out about Bobby. Not because of anything you did,” he added before Sam had a chance to interrupt. “It’s because suddenly it got personal. I don’t do revenge, Sam. I’ve seen it destroy too many people.” He glanced at Sam, who was looking at him closely, his face open and sincere. He nodded in understanding. “So,” he paused, catching Sam’s gaze. “We go after the Stynes, we kill them, but that’s where it ends. I need you to promise me that. One hit, we take them all and that’s it. Can you do that, Sam?” 

Sam’s widen in surprise, as if he didn’t expect Dean to say yes, as if he thought Dean could just leave him like that. He was beginning to think the kid wasn’t that smart after all. 

“I-- Yeah, of course. I promise, Dean.” Sam agreed, a little bit breathless, as his eyes searched Dean’s face for any insincerity. He didn’t find any and Dean could see the exact moment he believed him. The smile Sam sent him was blinding. “Thank you.”

Dean dismissed his gratitude with a wave of his hand. 

“Don’t sweat it, man. You can take it as an apology for the whole ‘I tried to kill you’ business.”

“That would imply that you came close.” Sam snorted. “Which wasn’t the case. Like at all.” Dean didn’t even have it in him to feel indignant with the way Sam was puffing his chest proudly, amusement dancing on his face. 

“Keep telling yourself that, kiddo.” 

Sam didn't respond, just kept smiling in a way that told Dean he was just indulging him and Dean was surprisingly fine with that. And when Sam let the topic slide and instead told him a funny story that happened to him at work today he was also fine with that. 

After a while, he even felt comfortable enough to share a few stories himself. Nothing graphic, nothing that would even hint at killing someone - Sam didn't seem bothered by the fact that Dean was a killer, but he didn't want to risk it - mostly stories from the road, from living in motels and meeting people. As it turned out Sam had his own stories from the road, which he shared readily, even if Dean detected in him the same apprehension to talk about what he did during that time. 

Not that Dean would judge him for what he did, especially if he was a kid. On the contrary, from what little he heard and from what he could piece together himself, he admired him for being able to get out. That took strength that Dean never had.

When he was fourteen, fifteen, he'd always dreamt about getting out, leaving Bobby and finding his own way, but he wasn't brave enough to do it. After a while it seemed like killing was all he knew, it was the only thing he was good at. 

"I felt the same way for a long time. I took years and a lot of distance for me to realize that it wasn't true. It's never too late if you want out." 

He blinked, hearing Sam reply, only to realize that he'd been sharing all of this out loud. Disoriented, he glanced around, until his gaze stopped on the empty bottles standing on the table. Apparently that craft beer they were drinking was really strong and he was more drunk than he thought. 

"And what am I gonna do? Become a lawyer?" Dean asked mockingly, but Sam just shrugged it off, tilting his head as he studied Dean. His eyes were a little unfocused, which was good because Dean would hate to be the only one drunk for this conversation. 

"No offense, but you don't strike me as a lawyer." Sam lips quirked into a small smile. "Listen, if you're happy with your life, I'm not going to preach to you about morality. Not like I have much ground to stand on in that matter. But if you aren't--" He paused, scrunching his face thoughtfully, making Dean shrink a little under his attentive gaze. "I'm sure you can find something else you're good at."

Sam's faith in him hit Dean like a brick wall. There weren't many people in his life who looked at him and saw a potential for being something other than a cold-blooded killer. The sincerity in Sam's face was so overwhelming he had to look down briefly to collect himself. 

"Thank you," he said after he met Sam's eyes again, sending him a grateful, if a little shaky, smile. 

He opened his mouth, unsure what to say next, when he caught the sight of a clock, eyes widening at the time. They'd been talking for hours, and it was nearing three in the morning. He threw Sam a quick look, only now noticing the way his eyelids were dropping slightly and the dark shadows under his eyes. 

"I should go, it's late." He started to stand up, but was stopped by Sam's hand on his shoulder. 

"You can stay, I don't mind." Sam shrugged and drank from his bottle, looking at Dean curiously over the rim. 

"You need your beauty sleep, Sammy. I've been keeping you up two nights in a row."

Dean really hoped that Sam could hear the regret in his voice, that he wouldn't take him leaving as a dismissal. He really hoped Sam could understand why he had to leave without him saying it out loud. 

Tonight was great, he really enjoyed talking to Sam, joking and drinking beer, but their conversation left him too vulnerable, too open. It wasn't a feeling Dean was used to and it was overwhelming. He needed some time to himself, needed to sober up and regroup. 

"I'm used to being up late, don't worry about it." Sam said, but it was more of a reassurance than a protest, as he smiled gently at Dean. 

"Yeah, well, I know you have an early morning court appearance tomorrow, so you need rest." 

"First of all, that's creepy, and second, I could win that case with my eyes closed." Sam replied with a glint in his eye. Dean would lie if he said that confidence wasn't hot as fuck. Damn his competency kink. Sam seemed oblivious to Dean's sudden flare of attraction, when he looked at his watch and sighed. "But you're right, it's getting late. How about dinner tomorrow? 8 PM? I'll cook."

"You'll cook? I can't miss that." Dean raised his eyebrows skeptically. 

Sam grinned. "You're right, you can't. And don't look at me like that. I won't poison you, I promise."

Dean nodded, chewing on his lip thoughtfully for a second before he let a teasing smirk stretch across his face. 

"So, this dinner, is it so we can talk, or, you know, whatever?" He wiggled his eyebrows, causing Sam to roll his eyes. 

The smirk froze on his face, when Sam didn’t blush or respond immediately. Instead he took a moment to study Dean, his eyes serious and intense.

"It's a date, Dean." 

The straightforward way Sam said that shut Dean right up, his teeth clicking together as he looked at him incredulously. Sam smiled smugly. 

"Okay, sure, I can do a date." He replied, suddenly feeling so out of his element that he didn't know what to do with himself. "I'll-- I'll bring wine?" It was supposed to be a statement, but came out like a question, and Dean could only curse himself for how unsure he sounded. 

Sam beamed at him. 

"Great." He said, covering Dean's hand with his, making Dean realize that at some point he moved it back to rest on Sam's knee without even knowing.

They stayed like that for a moment, umoving, before Dean shook his head, standing up hurriedly. 

"I'll see myself out." He said with a sheepish smile, running a hand through his hair. 

He was halfway to the door when he heard Sam shout behind him. 

"That's the second time you're storming out of my apartment." 

The bastard was laughing at him. 

"Fuck you, Sam." He replied half-heartedly, feeling himself getting red.

"Maybe if you are lucky." 

That was the last thing Dean heard before the door closed behind him, leaving him unsure if he wanted to kiss Sam or punch him in the face.


	3. Night Three

The third time Dean came into Sam's house he was ready. Last night ended up being a little bit of a disaster with the way Sam caught him off guard. He didn't expect the other man to be so direct in asking him out. Dean couldn't even remember when was the last time he was asked out on a date, or asked anyone out for that matter. Picking up one night stands didn't require much wining and dining, it was more about finding someone who was willing to get off as soon as possible.

Clearly Sam had a different idea about wining and dining because here Dean was, trying to pick a lock one-handed, while holding a bottle of red in the other. Thankfully, it turned out he didn’t have to test that particular skill. Before he even managed to get the lockpick out of his pocket the door opened, showing Sam’s exasperated face.

“Really, Dean? At this rate you’re going to break the damn thing.” Sam complained, but with no real heat behind it as he sent Dean a lopsided smile and gestured him inside.

“It’s not my fault that your lock is so laughably easy to pick, Sammy. You should invest in better security, because this thing? That’s a magnet for thieves and serial killers.” He replied with a wide grin, shrugging off his jacket. 

It was the first time he came to Sam’s house in his civilian clothes, opting for a blue denim shirt over a grey t-shirt, not his usual work attire of all black. Sam seemed to like that, judging by his appreciative gaze that stopped on Dean’s body for a moment longer than necessary. Dean could relate. He was enjoying the view of Sam in a dress shirt with the top buttons undone immensely.

“Tell me about it.” Sam snorted, taking the bottle of wine Dean offered him with a small thanks. He glanced at the etiquette and gave a little pleased hum. “You know your wines. I didn't expect that.” 

It was Dean’s turn to laugh, as he followed Sam towards the kitchen. 

“I really don’t. I just asked the lady at the counter for something a big shot lawyer would appreciate.” 

“Well, I’m really impressed with her.” Sam teased, as he set the bottle and two glasses on the counter. “You didn’t happen to get her number, did you?”

“I thought about it, seeing as she was a very attractive sixty-something, but then I remembered that someone had asked me out on a date.” 

When Sam turned to him, he had a full-tooth grin plastered on his face. His eyes twinkled with amusement as they moved over Dean’s face before a mischievous glint appeared in them.

“Yeah, about that.”

Dean didn’t even have a chance to process how hot he sounded, speaking in a low purr, because in the next second Sam was only inches away from him. His eyes met Dean’s briefly before he pressed their lips together. 

There was a moment when Dean’s mind went blank. Fortunately, he didn’t need to think to react. His body responded automatically to the warm lips moving against his own. Before his brain had time to process that holy shit, it was Sam who was kissing him, Sam was already pulling back with a satisfied smile. 

“I just thought we could get the awkward first kiss out of the way.” He shrugged, already moving towards the stove.

Dean gaped at him, speechless. Sam was either his best wet dream or his worst nightmare. Probably both. It was just Dean’s luck that he had to be attracted to a guy that made him feel out of balance and captivated him at the same time. 

“Sammy” Dean groaned, licking his lips unconsciously. He found himself taking one step forward, wanting to follow, but stopped himself in time. “You can’t just kiss a guy like that and then leave him.”

“I can if the dinner is burning.” Sam looked at him over his shoulder, deadpan. Still, by the way his cheeks were tainted red, it was clear he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

Dean huffed, sitting down on the kitchen chair. He took his consolation prize in the way of unashamedly ogling Sam’s ass. That was until he felt a wet nose nuzzling his hand and had to look down.

“Hi, girl.” He moved to pat Sam’s dog, which was apparently an invitation enough for her to stand up with both paws on his tight and demand more scratching. “You’re heavy, aren’t you?” He grinned, moving his fingers behind her ear. 

When Dean turned back, Sam was leaning on the counter, watching them with warm, sparkling eyes. 

"Her name is Miracle, I don't think I've mentioned that before." Sam explained, chuckling when Miracle turned her snout into Dean’s hand, licking it thoroughly before he had a chance to take his hand away.

Dean made a face, shooing the dog away and heading to the sink to get rid of the dog’s saliva. 

"I assume there's a story behind the name?" He asked, glancing at Sam while he rinsed his hands under the water.

"Nothing exciting." Sam shrugged. "I found her when I was in a really bad place, a few weeks after my dad died. She gave me a reason to pick myself up, you know?"

“Yeah.” Dean sighed.

Sam only nodded, looking at Dean softly. Kindly. As if he knew about those nights Dean spent in bars drunk out of his mind, other nights when he couldn’t even be bothered to put on some pants and go out, opting for drinking himself to sleep. He couldn’t know, but he understood. He once was in that bad place Dean was now barely crawling out of.

Dean shook his head, hating the way their mood suddenly turned somber. He eyed Sam, who was once again turned towards the stove, considering. 

“Sammy?” He asked, his tone back to playful. Sam made an inquiring sound. “Is the dinner burning?”

Sam looked at him with confusion. 

“Umm, no? Do you smell something burn--” Dean didn’t give him a chance to finish, slotting his mouth against Sam’s slightly open ones. He had to fight the triumphant smile when Sam gasped, clinging to Dean’s shirt. 

This time Dean didn’t let him run away so quickly. He brought both hands to frame Sam’s face as his tongue slowly ran across Sam’s lower lip, causing him to pull Dean even closer. It wasn’t long before Sam’s tongue met his, causing them both to groan. 

Dean wasn’t sure how long they stood like that exchanging at first unhurried, exploring kisses, that quickly started to heat up. He was so lost in the feeling of Sam’s chest against his, his smell and the way he felt under Dean’s exploring fingers. He would be content to just stay like this and kiss Sam forever. The moment he thought that was the moment Sam started to pull away, making Dean growl in annoyance. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam shushed him, placing a few small, placating kisses on his lips, before he disantangled himself from Dean completely. “But I really need to finish this.” He sent Dean an apologetic smile, lips red and glistening. 

Dean huffed, taking a step closer to the stove, feeling a shiver run down his spine, when his hand accidentally brushed Sam’s. 

“What are you cooking, anyway? It smells great.”

“Green curry.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, peering into the pot with a curious expression. Sam wasn’t wrong, it looked really green. Dean felt dread rising in him, his widening when he glanced at Sam.

"Sammy, are you a-- a vegan or something?" It was difficult to spit the word out without grimacing. 

He watched the way Sam laughed, dimples showing, and in that moment Dean didn't really care if he would have to eat tofu for the rest of his life, just as long as he could watch Sam smile. 

"No, Dean, I just like to eat healthy." Sam explained, adding, to Dean’s alarm, some more greens and stirring the pot. “Anyway, there’s chicken in this. Does that satisfy your meat craving?” 

“Not really, but I’ll manage.” Dean conceded, still glancing at the pot with suspicion. “Can I taste it?” 

“Nope” Sam grinned, pushing Dean playfully away. “Go sit at the table, it’s almost ready.”

“So bossy” Dean mumbled to himself, but complied. 

“And could you open the wine?”

“I'm not your house elf, Sam!”

“No, you’re much cuter and a lot more grumpy.” Sam teased with a grin. 

Just to prove Sam’s point Dean grumbled all the way through opening the bottle and filling their glasses. After that he didn’t have to wait long until Sam came with their plates and they could start eating. 

"Okay, that-- That is so good." Dean moaned happily, still chewing as he pointed with his fork to the plate. He took the first bite hesitantly, perfectly aware that this one plate contained more vegetables than he probably had in a month, but as it turned out the curry tasted heavenly. 

Sam, to his credit, didn't look put out by Dean’s bad table manners, even as Dean dug into his meal with full speed. 

"When was the last time you had a home cooked meal?" He asked, with a wide, pleased smile. 

Dean paused, considering. 

"I'm not even sure, but I know I've never had something this good." He licked his lips for emphasis, feeling Sam's gaze follow the motion. 

"Leave some room for a dessert. I bought some pie on my way from work." 

That piqued Dean's interest enough to put down his fork. 

"Pie?" He asked hopefully. 

"I gather that you like pie then?" Sam quirked an eyebrow, visibly pleased with himself. Dean nodded enthusiastically in response. 

"I think I want to marry you, Sammy." He replied without thinking, moaning happily against the next bite of food. His slip of the tongue was so worth it, when it made Sam almost fall out of the chair, while choking on his food. 

It was kind of adorable how he got all flustered after that, casting his eyes from one side to another and trying not to meet Dean's gaze. Until finally he did, only to sent Dean a glare that would kill a lesser man. 

"Do you often propose on a first date?" He asked, clearing his throat. 

"Well, I do make a lot of propositions," he winked at Sam, causing the other man to roll his eyes. "But no, I don't usually propose. Maybe because I don't usually go on dates."

"That would explain a lot." 

"What?" Dean looked at him questioningly. "What?" He repeated when Sam just smiled at him mischievously. "Sammy, tell me." 

Sam only grinned wider, gesturing with his chin towards Dean's plate. 

"Eat, before it gets cold." 

Not like Dean needed more encouragement to dig back into the delicious food in front of him. 

They kept their conversation light, bantering and laughing through the dinner and dessert. When Sam set before him a giant piece of cherry pie, Dean didn't even hesitate before he pulled him down and kissed thoroughly. That meant he could enjoy the dazed look on Sam's face when Dean finally let him go. It was almost as good as the pie itself. 

After that, it seemed that Sam took it as a challenge to make Dean lose his mind. He started small, reaching for Dean's hand to gently run his thumb over it. The gesture was so innocent, Dean had to duck his head to hide the dumb grin that stretched across his face. 

It wasn't long before Sam got tired of subtlety. First Dean felt his knee settling firmly against his own. Before he knew it, Sam's socked foot was moving teasingly up and down his leg, making Dean almost drop his fork. 

When he sent Sam an incredulous look, the other man just smirked, his pupils slightly dilated and cheeks tainted pink. Dean could see he was impatient to move things somewhere more comfortable, which in any other circumstances Dean would be all for. Except that Sam was being a little shit right now and he deserved to suffer a bit longer. 

So Dean cut another small piece of his pie painstakingly slowly, sucking the fork into his mouth without taking his eyes off of Sam. It was a torture, especially with the way Sam was looking at him hungrily, his foot still teasing along Dean's tight. 

For a moment he thought Sam would haul him across the table, when he thoroughly licked his fork clean after the last bite and moved to wash the taste away with wine. 

"You think I can get any more of this pie, Sammy?" He asked, just to enjoy watching Sam's face go through a myriad of expressions. From turned on to extremely annoyed, until it settled on resigned and Sam nodded. 

"Sure, I'll get you some more." He got up, but before he could move any further, Dean's fingers curled into his belt loops, pulling him towards Dean. 

"I was just kidding. Did you really think I could sit through another piece of pie?" Dean turned in his chair, so he could pull Sam closer until he stood between his open legs. "Especially with you looking at me like this?" 

"You're a jerk." Sam chuckled, hands flailing briefly, before they settled on Dean's head and started combing through his hair. 

"Better than being a bitch." Dean replied, grinning cheekily, causing Sam to narrow his eyes. 

"I'll show you who's a bitch" he growled, meeting Dean's lips roughly. 

Dean moaned with satisfaction when Sam's tongue parted his lips, running his hands up and down Sam's torso until they found their way underneath his shirt. Suddenly it was like the floodgates had opened. All the teasing throughout the evening made them desperate to touch every inch of the other's body they could reach, to explore each other's mouths with so much urgency it felt like it was the end of the world. 

Dean found himself being pressed uncomfortably against the table, the hard edges digging into his back, as Sam tried to get as close to him as possible. He didn’t care much about the discomfort, especially when Sam mouthed a line of kisses from his jaw up to his earlobe, biting into it lightly. His kisses were still hard and insistent, but lost a bit of the earlier urgency, became less rushed.

Feeling Sam move against him was unlike anything Dean ever felt. He’d been with plenty of men before, even though he mostly preferred women, some of them were even as big and strong as Sam. But none of them had this kind of silent confidence Sam had, none of them felt equal to Dean in the way Sam felt from the beginning. From the moment he fought Dean and actually won, from their first conversation and the way he could keep up with Dean’s sarcasm and give as good as he got. The way he could challenge and surprise Dean at every turn, keep him on his toes and make him feel at ease at the same time. 

While Sam kept licking and biting at Dean’s jaw, Dean's hands made their way up his shirt, regrettably leaving the broad expanse of Sam’s chest to tangle into his soft hair. Once Dean gripped them firmly, he tugged, pulling Sam away from his jaw, making him moan loudly in the process. Dean smiled, not at all surprised that Sam liked to have his hair pulled. He tugged again, angling Sam head the way he wanted to, exposing his neck. It was time for him to have a taste of Sam.

Sam obliged happily when Dean dived down to feast on his neck, twisting his head to give him even better access. Dean hummed contentedly at the taste of Sam’s skin, at the way his licks and kisses were making Sam groan. He took his time exploring the expanse of uncovered skin, moving slowly down, biting at Sam’s collarbone to elicit another breathless gasp. 

Dean let out an irritated growl, when his path down was interrupted by the material of Sam’s shirt, fiddling impatiently with the button until he managed to open the shirt a bit more. He continued, one by one, until Sam stood before him with his shirt open and an intense look on his face. He looked absolutely stunning. 

“Dean” Sam murmured, guiding Dean’s mouth to his and kissing him deeply. “I think we should move this upstairs?” He rolled his hips against Dean, to show what ‘this’ actually meant, brushing their half-hard cocks together, causing them to moan in unison.

Dean could only nod eagerly, as his hands moved up and down Sam’s bare chest, too mesmerized by the hard muscles underneath his fingers to be able to stop. 

“Come on” Sam told him and with a last final kiss he took a step back, shedding his shirt, before he reached his hand out to Dean, who grabbed it immediately.

Dean let himself be pulled up the stairs, enjoying the view he had of Sam’s naked back, but as soon as Sam stopped to open the door to his bedroom, he found himself unable to wait any longer. Before Sam had a chance to open the door, he was pinned to the wall and Dean was kissing him again.

Sam chuckled against his lips, apparently accepting that this was how far they would go for now. His hands made a quick work of pushing Dean’s shirt off of his shoulders right before he pulled Dean’s t-shirt over his head. 

The look Dean saw in Sam’s eyes, once all of his upper layers were off took his breath away. Sam’s gaze was roaming all over his chest with a hunger that he wasn’t even trying to hide. 

“You look stunning” Sam complimented, awe in his voice.

Dean had to blush at that, equal parts flattered and mad at himself, because he should be the one complimenting Sam. The guy looked like a greek god or something out of a fairytale. Very dirty, very adult fairytale.

He sent Sam a heated look kissing him once more before moving down, tracing Sam's pecs and muscles with his tongue. Sam moaned loudly and grabbed Dean's short hair in a tight grip when Dean licked one of his nipples and then moved to the other, biting it lightly. Despite Sam’s grip trying to keep him in place, Dean took only a moment to tease his hardened nipples, before he moved lower, knees hitting the floor, impatient to get into Sam’s pants. 

He licked and bit into the tight skin of Sam’s abdomen, nosing at his happy trail, until he was stopped by the waistband of his pants. Dean paused for a moment, his hands gripping Sam’s hips tightly as his thumbs caressed the soft skin, dipping under the waistband ever so slightly. 

“Can I blow you, Sammy?” He looked up, his eyes drilling into Sam with heated intensity. Sam was nodding before he even finished the question, gaze glazed over and mouth open slightly. 

“Fuck, Dean, please.” He breathed out, casting his hips forward, towards Dean’s face.

After getting Sam’s confirmation, Dean didn’t waste time. He had his belt unbuckled, pants and boxers pulled down to his mid-thighs in a record time. Sam’s dick sprang up from the confines of his underwear, hard and leaking precome, making Dean unconsciously lick his lips.

He took a second to admire Sam like that, almost fully naked, breathing heavily and looking a little bit desperate. His gaze followed Dean’s tongue when it ran across his lips, hips twitching once again. Dean gripped him tighter and pinned his hips to the wall, making sure there was no room for him to move. When he finally licked at the tip of Sam’s cock, Sam let out a guttural moan, casting his head backwards and thumping hard into the wall. 

As impatient as he was to get into Sam’s pants, Dean took his time going down on him. First lavishing his hard length with small licks and kisses, which were driving Sam crazy, judging by the sounds he was making. Eventually, he couldn’t wait any longer to have Sam in his mouth, licking his way back up to seal his lips across the tip. He sucked gently, quirking a smile at Sam’s frustrated groan, as the hands in his hair urged him to take more of Sam into his mouth. 

He complied happily, taking as much of Sam’s dick as he could without choking and starting a slow up and down rhythm. One of his hands let go of Sam’s hip and moved down to fondle his balls. That gave Sam some leeway to move his hips, rocking lightly into Dean’s mouth, making him lightheaded with the taste and smell of Sam surrounding him. 

It didn’t take long before Sam was pulling at his hair in warning.

“Dean-- I’m gonna--” he gasped, his thrusts into Dean’s mouth getting more frantic.

Dean hummed encouragingly, running his tongue across the slit on his way up and taking Sam even deeper. That was apparently all it took for Sam to cast his hips forward one last time before he was coming with a loud moan of Dean’s name.

Dean tried to swallow as much of Sam’s come as he could, licking at Sam’s cock until he was shivering with aftershocks and pulling Dean’s mouth off him. He had barely enough time to wipe his lips before Sam was hauling him up off his knees and into a bruising kiss. 

“Thank you” Sam gasped between kisses. “That was amazing.” 

His thigh suddenly found its way between Dean’s legs, settling firmly against his dick and reminding him how uncomfortably hard he was, still confined in his jeans. He didn’t even notice it when he was blowing Sam, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him invading all of Dean’s senses, but now he could barely think about anything else. He groaned, seeking a friction from Sam’s muscled thigh. Sam let him take what he wanted for a moment, busy shoving his tongue as deep as he could into Dean’s throat. 

Dean was so preoccupied with making himself come, he completely missed the way Sam’s hand slowly ran down his torso, only to groan when it cupped his dick. 

“Let’s get you out of these” Sam murmured against his ear, making Dean shiver and nod frantically.

He made a quick work of his belt and zipper, sneaking a hand inside his boxers and gripping Dean’s leaking cock. Dean cried at the skin to skin contact, trying desperately to thrust into Sam’s fist. Sam was quick to accommodate him, tightening his grip just right and moving his hand firmly up and down. His other hand rolled one of Dean’s nipples, sending little sparks of pleasure towards his dick. 

“Sam-- Sammy--” he groaned as Sam bit into his earlobe, pinching his nipple at the same time. It was the final push Dean needed to come, spilling into Sam’s hand with a long, satisfied groan. He fell into Sam gracelessly, trusting him to support both of their weights, trapping Sam’s hand between them in the process.

“So fucking hot” Sam whispered, licking at his ear, making Dean shiver, as he nuzzled deeper into Sam’s neck. 

“Shut up, you look like a greek god” Dean mumbled, his brain to mouth filter refusing to work.

Sam chuckled. Dean could feel the sound revibrating through his chest.

“Greek god, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Dean bit at the junction of his neck and shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough for Sam to shut up and stop being a smartass. 

They stayed still a while longer, their breaths evening out as they rested against each other. Dean was certain he had to be crushing Sam with his weight, but the other man didn't complain, only held him tightly with his arms wrapped around Dean's back. 

“You know, there’s a perfectly good bed on the other side of this door.”

"If you want me to move you have to let go of me first, genius." Dean grumbled, leaning his head back to look at Sam. 

"Or I can carry you." Sam suggested with a devilish smile, making a move as though he seriously wanted to pick Dean up. 

"No, no way. You're not carrying me anywhere." Dean protested, quickly scrambling back, almost tripping over his jeans, that were now pooled around his ankles. 

Sam only snorted, stepping out of his own pants, while Dean tried to do the same. 

"At least I made you move." He shrugged, sending Dean a blinding smile. "Come on."

The bedroom didn't change at all since Dean saw it two days ago. The only difference was that now there was fully naked Sam sliding under the covers with a satisfied groan and patting the other side of the bed for Dean to join. 

Dean hesitated for just a moment, but still long enough for Sam to notice. He frowned at Dean, his expression a mix between annoyed and exasperated. 

"Dean, if you are planning to storm out of here for the third time, you should know that I will find you and I will kill you." He said with a faux casual tone, as he moved deeper under the covers.

Dean shook his head with a slight smile. 

"I wasn't planning to." He made his way towards the bed, quickly laying down beside Sam. 

There was a brief moment when Dean wasn't sure what Sam expected of him. Usually, after sex he stayed long enough to catch his breath and he was out of the door. But Sam invited him into his bed, clearly wanting Dean to stay the night. Fortunately, he was spared any further awkwardness by Sam, who immediately pulled him close and into a kiss. It was slower now, the initial rush of desire was out of their systems, making both of them more relaxed. Dean was happy to let Sam explore his mouth, enjoying the languid pace. 

Dean pulled Sam on the top of him, taking the opportunity to run his hands all over Sam's body, touching wherever he could reach. He would be content to stay like this forever feeling Sam's weight on him, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy that was completely new to him. 

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like this, exchanging slow kisses and light touches before it was too much. Dean could feel himself harden again, canting his hips up to meet Sam's half-hard cock. Sam moaned against his lips, pulling back to look at Dean with dark eyes. 

"Too bad you didn't let me carry you. That would have been so hot."

Dean blinked at him, confused. Then he chuckled when he remembered Sam's earlier request to carry him into the bedroom. 

"You'd really like that, wouldn't you?" He bit his lip as Sam's pupils dilated. "That's not gonna happen, Sammy." 

"What if I picked you up and fucked you against the wall?" 

Dean paused, feeling a sudden spark of arousal at the thought. That was definitely something he would very much like to explore in the future. He could just imagine Sam pinning him to the wall, his strong hands holding Dean up as he thrusted into him hard. He had no doubt Sam could do it, that he was strong enough to hold all of Dean's weight. 

Sam sent him a knowing smirk, perfectly aware of what was going through Dean's mind right now. Dean surged up to kiss him, wanting to wipe off that smug look off of his face. 

The way Sam gasped, thrusting his hips down told Dean that he definitely succeeded. He took his time kissing Sam breathless, leaving him hard and moaning. Then, in one quick movement that was laughingly easy because of his years of experience, he turned them around. 

He was now on the top of Sam, staring into his glazed eyes. Sam was looking at him as if he didn't fully understand what had just happened. 

"How about you let me fuck you on that 'perfectly good' bed of yours before we start exploring your kinky side, Sammy?" Dean drawled, rolling his hips slowly against Sam to mimic exactly what he wanted to do to him. 

"Kinky side?" Sam let out something between a laugh and a moan, but obediently spread his legs to accommodate Dean better. "You have no idea."

When Dean's lips descended on Sam once more, his only thought was that he really wanted to find out. 

*

Dean woke up with a face full of hair and a heavy weight pressing him down into the mattress. A quick glance down confirmed that Sam was laying on his chest, one arm and leg draped over Dean in a manner that seemed almost possessive. 

He was still sleeping, his body rising with every deep breath and exhaling warm air into Dean's neck. Sam's face was soft and relaxed and lips slightly open, making him look younger, far more innocent than Dean knew he was. 

It was still early in the morning, judging by the sun that was barely rising above the horizon. An unusual time for Dean to wake up, considering that most of his work happened at night. Even more unusual because of how late they fell asleep last night. 

After Sam let Dean fuck him nice and slow, they stayed in bed exchanging kisses and talking long into the night. Dean had to find out the hard way that Sam was a really big fan of cuddling after sex. It made him complain loudly, rolling his eyes at how an orgasm could make Sam such a girl. Not that Sam cared much about his protests, pulling Dean even closer and telling him to shut up. Even though Dean didn't want to admit it out loud, he kind of enjoyed cuddling with Sam. He suspected that, somehow, Sam already knew it. 

A hand running softly down his chest brought him back to reality. When he looked down Sam's eyes were already on him, open, but still foggy with sleep. 

"Morning." Dean greeted in a voice hoarse from disuse. He used the hand that wasn't trapped under Sam's giant body to pull back some of the hair that was in Sam's face. 

Sam smiled at him sleepily, placing a single kiss on the skin just above Dean's heart, making him feel dizzy with affection. 

"Get back to sleep" Dean said softly, running his hand through Sam's hair and chuckling softly when the gesture made Sam hum happily. He watched as Sam’s eyes fluttered shut once again, his breathing evening out. 

In the early morning light with Sam curled up around him, he felt at peace in a way he didn’t remember feeling before. He tried to keep his eyes open, even though his eyelids were heavier with every second, desperately wanting to stay in this moment a little longer. 

Dean didn't even know when he fell asleep again, but the next time he woke up he was alone in bed. He stretched, idly noticing that Sam's side of the bed was still warm, but the other man was nowhere in sight. It was then that he heard sounds coming from downstairs. Reluctantly, he got up and put on the t-shirt that he wore last night which was now hanging over a chair. He briefly considered putting on his jeans, but decided against it, curious to find out what Sam was doing downstairs. 

As it turned out, Sam was making breakfast. Clad in a pair of sleeping pants and nothing else, he was standing next to the sizzling pans, his hips swaying gently to the music that was playing from a small speaker. Dean could feel his mouth water and it had nothing to do with the delicious smell of bacon. 

Almost unwittingly, he moved to stand behind him, sneaking his hands around Sam's chest and plastering himself against his back. Sam barely even flinched at the unexpected touch, leaning his head back to place a kiss on Dean's cheek. 

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, humming contentedly when Dean's lips covered his, dragging him into an unhurried kiss. 

"Like a baby. Are you making me breakfast?" Dean peered over Sam's shoulder to see the eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove. 

"Mhm" Sam confirmed lazily, turning back to the kitchen. "I also made coffee." 

"You’re awesome, Sammy." Dean sighed, burying his face between Sam's shoulder blades, happy to just stay there for a while longer.

They had a lot to talk about after breakfast, plans to make and people to kill. There were still people who wanted Sam dead. Hell, by now they probably wanted Dean dead too, he didn't exactly do a great job of killing his target after all. 

At some point he and Sam would have to talk about this thing between them. Which should terrify Dean, but right now it only made something in his stomach curl pleasantly. He couldn’t find it in himself to worry, not with the way Sam's shoulders were shaking with laughter and his skin was warm and inviting beneath Dean's lips. There was no desire to run, to storm off as Sam liked to call it, for now he was happy to stay right here.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really love your feedback :)


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